


Towards the Future

by leporidae



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arguing, Double Dating, Flashbacks, Gen, Hospitals, M/M, Nightmares, POV Alternating, Post-Chairman Election Arc, Pre-Dark Continent Arc, Scars
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-11 10:35:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15970565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leporidae/pseuds/leporidae
Summary: Healing, reuniting, and moving forward.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally this fic was going to be a massive oneshot, but it got a bit too unwieldy, so I decided to break it into parts so that it would be easier for me to edit.
> 
> The main cornerstone of this AU is that rather than being reincarnated as a Chimera Ant, Kite's soul returned to his (very battered) body after Gon killed Pitou. He's still human but very weak, and has been hospitalized for rehabilitation to regain strength and control of his body after his prolonged time spent as Pitou's puppet.
> 
> The other foundation of this fic was my curiosity regarding how a meeting between Leorio and Kite might go. Both respect and care for Gon and are very stubborn in their own ways, particularly regarding their wildly different opinions regarding Ging. But they're also similar in that they both have to deal with someone they care about vanishing off the face of the planet regularly.
> 
> (...Basically, every interaction in this fic is extremely self-indulgent, but I hope others enjoy it regardless.)

Leorio’s been having one hell of a week. 

Between almost accidentally getting elected as the next Chairman of the Hunter Association, having to stand by Gon’s bedside and lay eyes upon the horror of what was practically his corpse (before Killua mysteriously healed him), and punching Ging Freecss — former Boar of the Zodiacs and infamous Ruins Hunter — in the face, Leorio has had plenty of emotional whiplash for one lifetime. Seeing Gon’s smiling face after everything had caused him to sob for so long that his doctor's instinct had reprimanded himself for not staying hydrated. But Gon’s _okay_ , he’s _alive_ , Ging and Pariston have left the Zodiacs and Cheadle Yorkshire is the new Chairman, and for a brief moment in their hectic and impossible lives, everything seems all right, the very balance of the world restored. 

...Not quite, though. Gon’s safe, back at home on Whale Island, and Killua is traveling with his sister, but there’s someone else absent, someone who as usual has not contacted Leorio in a long time. Someone he’s faced many trials with, someone he cares about deeply.

Leorio calls Kurapika. 

He never expects a response when it comes to Kurapika. Leorio can count on one hand the number of times his friend has picked up when he’s called, but this time it’s _important_. He had suggested to Cheadle that Kurapika replace Pariston in the Zodiacs as the new Rat, and she had apparently managed to contact him and secure his agreement. But Leorio wants to discuss it with him personally, reconnect over their new shared duties as exalted members of the Association, and gauge Kurapika’s emotional state before their expedition to the Dark Continent so Leorio knows how much support to provide him.

His hope drains away with every ring, and he’s close to hanging up with a knowing sigh when there’s a _click_ on the other end of the line. Leorio’s heart jumps into his throat with sheer disbelief. 

“Hello?” 

 _“KURAPIKA!”_   Unintentionally Leorio shouts his name, and in his mind’s eye he can visualize Kurapika’s lip curling with disgruntlement as he holds the phone a foot from his ear. “It’s been so long since you’ve picked up, I have so much to tell you. Are you getting here soon? We have to catch up!”

“...Hello, Leorio,” comes the response after a beat, and Leorio would like to imagine Kurapika is smiling as he says it — at least a little bit. 

“You’ve missed so much, Kurapika. Did you hear Gon almost died? All I could think about was helping him, and my own failings as a doctor, and then all of a sudden the Hunter Association was holding elections, and I had _votes?_ I had to give a speech? And all of this was getting in the way of me helping Gon, but there was nothing I could do anyway. I was so worried!” 

“Leorio...” 

“I hadn’t heard from him in so long, then all of a sudden I’m getting calls about how Gon’s in the hospital, and barely clinging to life, and something about ants, and I have no idea what’s going on, and apparently it’s something classified, but I’m a Hunter and Gon’s friend and I deserve to know, dammit! And —“

“Leorio —” 

“I kept thinking about that smiling face of his, and I couldn't even imagine never getting to see that kid again, and I felt so helpless, because his condition was way beyond what any doctor can heal, and —“ 

“Leorio!” 

This time, when he raises his voice, Leorio stops. “What?” 

“Are you calling me from inside the Hunter Association Headquarters?” 

Leorio raises an eyebrow at the phone. “Yeah? What of it?” 

“I’m standing outside. Perhaps you would prefer to run your mouth in person so as not to put strain on either of our phones? I practically hear static coming from the speaker. It appears you haven't changed at all —” 

Leorio hangs up and breaks into a sprint.

* * *

Kurapika braces himself for impact as the emotional man in a suit hurtles toward him, arms pinwheeling comically. _I’m not going to smile,_ he reminds himself sternly, but alas — his lips twitch upwards as Leorio barrels into his chest, squeezing his arms around Kurapika in a tight embrace that would be completely unacceptable from anyone else. 

“You’ve lost weight,” Leorio remarks when they break apart, surprising Kurapika. “Have you been eating properly? Are you all right?” 

Trust Leorio to pick up on such an imperceptible change. “I’m fine,” he says airily, though he’s skipped many meals in the recent past, too preoccupied with his job and personal research to consider certain basic human necessities. Sleep had been rather sparse, too. "If I couldn't function in my job, that would defeat the purpose of having it."

Leorio furrows his brow but mercifully doesn’t pursue the line of thought. “Geez, couldn’t you have showed up a few days sooner? I’ve been having a real time of things! I've gotten introduced to all these important Hunters I wouldn’t know from a stranger on the road, and I was always kept out of the loop of everything relating to Gon. You’re much better at staying calm in these kinds of situations and thinking things through, as much as I hate to admit it. I really could have used your help!” 

Kurapika knows that whatever trauma Leorio had experienced in his absence is no laughing matter, but he still has to resist the urge to sigh at the man's typically overzealous delivery. “Gon is all right now, isn’t he?” 

“Yes,” Leorio admits. “He’s doing just fine.” His fists clench at his sides, and — are those tears Kurapika spies, brimming at the corners of his eyes? “No thanks to me.” 

Kurapika’s hand raises without thinking, but rather than pull Leorio into another hug, he settles for awkwardly placing his hand on the other’s arm and giving it a light squeeze. “It sounds like no one could do much of anything,” he reasons. “You were there for him, Leorio. You visited him and rallied others to help him. That’s all that matters.” 

 _It’s more than I can say for myself, at least._  

“That’s _not_ all that matters,” Leorio retorts, though he doesn’t brush the hand away. “All this time studying, all the effort I spent on the Hunter exam, and I still almost lost someone I cared about. I was totally helpless… dammit! It sucks! Have I even gotten anywhere?” 

Comfort is not Kurapika’s strongest skill, but perhaps he can logic Leorio out of a breakdown, or at the very least distract him from one. “How _did_ he get healed, then?” 

“Killua did… _something_ ,” Leorio says. “I don’t really know. He wouldn’t talk about it.” 

“Killua?” Kurapika blinks. “Is he still here?” 

Leorio shakes his head. “He and his sister went off traveling. Gon went home too, by the way.” 

“I’m sorry I missed them,” Kurapika says, and he means it. “But it can’t be helped.” Though he does feel a pang of guilt at having failed his companions in their time of need, as usual his agenda is moving ever forward, and he can’t dwell on past losses. 

Before them looms the Headquarters at which Kurapika had recently been recruited. Accepting the position as the new Rat of the Zodiac had been in his best interest, as it gives him another official avenue for information gathering, which in turn he can use to track down the remainder of the Kurta Clan’s scarlet eyes. Tirelessly, and for months, Kurapika had pursued those possessing those relics of his family, and unbeknownst to Leorio, he had recovered all but one pair. He’s so close to completing that aspect of his mission, _so close_ , and then he can resume his pursuit of the Phantom Troupe as fate had always intended, eliminating the unforgivable murderers one by one so the Kurta massacre is never rewritten into the pages of history. 

Leorio shakes his head. “Don’t overthink it. You were doing what you had to do, even if it meant not being here. Gon and Killua would never think less of you for that.” 

_But what if it makes me think less of myself?_

“Thank you, Leorio,” Kurapika says quietly. 

Tension hangs between them like fog, the strain of Kurapika’s exhaustion grating against Leorio’s unbending kindness like metal on glass. Leorio is silent, thoughtful, and Kurapika is struck by his poise, so different from the chaotic Leorio he had met over a year ago during the Hunter Exam, the Leorio who had stumbled through every trial by sheer force of willpower and choleric outbursts. 

“I’m heading to the hospital,” Leorio says after a lull too long to be comfortable. “One of Gon’s friends, Kite, got brutalized pretty badly during the invasion. So I’m told, anyway. Morel gave me a rushed summary of what happened, but it was pretty confusing. Oh — Morel is another one of Gon's friends, too. Also a Hunter."

"Mm," Kurapika hums, not fully following but hesitant to inquire further lest Leorio's explanation grow even more cumbersome.

"Anyway, Kite was admitted into the rehabilitation center a few days ago. I’m not really sure of the details, but I thought it would be worthwhile to get to know him. Or at least reach out, since he knows Gon…” 

Pointedly he stares at Kurapika, an unspoken invitation to accompany him, and Kurapika glances away, again struck with guilt by Leorio's intensity. “I still haven’t met with Cheadle about my duties,” he says apologetically. Of course he wishes he could accompany Leorio on his selfless quest, but he never can. That’s the reality he’s created for himself. Until his own mission is complete, he can’t waste time on hospital visits and philanthropy — not until he’s seen his purpose through. “But... I wish you luck. It's good of you to do, really.” 

This time, when Leorio wraps his gangly arms around his frame and holds him close, Kurapika is struck by a pang of unease. No, not unease, longing — _ah_ , but that’s why he’s uneasy. Longing means caring, caring means weakness. Weakness had prevented him from killing Chrollo Lucilfer many months ago, when Gon and Killua had been captured and used as bargaining chips by the enemy. He had longed for friends, made them, cared about them, put them in danger, and let them distract him from his duties. When he's with Leorio, the longing is even stronger, and Kurapika fears that the cycle will repeat itself viciously, resulting in nothing but failure and misery for the both of them.

_Longing. Caring. Weakness. Failure —_

“Would you like to get dinner later?” Leorio says softly, and Kurapika's intrusive thoughts dull to a low throbbing in his temple, a muted migraine. “If you have time. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you, I just thought —” 

“Maybe,” Kurapika interrupts, a bit too curtly, and he feels Leorio tense ever so slightly. It’s so foreign, the gentle tone Leorio takes with him, not condescending or pitying but sympathetic, understanding — a tone Kurapika is never quite sure he deserves. “Rather, I’ll see if I’m free after the meeting, and then we can discuss plans.” Why can’t he afford Leorio the same kindness he receives from him? Kurapika's words come out clinical, a machine-automated response, and they create a distance between the two of them Kurapika isn’t sure he wants, and that Leorio certainly doesn't want.

“...Then, we’ll talk later,” Leorio says when he releases his grip.

Kurapika nods mutely, and curses the unyielding warmth of the man who makes his fortitude waver.

* * *

The hospital to which Kite had been admitted for rehabilitation is fancier than any Leorio has ever seen. Many of the patients whose rooms he passes as he walks down the hallway have left their doors slightly ajar, so Leorio is able to peek in and see the accommodations for himself. Each individual room is almost on the level of a properly furnished private hotel room, much nicer than anywhere Leorio had lived growing up. If it hadn’t been for what Leorio knew of Kite’s situation, he almost would have felt jealous. It would take a Hunter’s fortune to be admitted to a place like this, though whether Kite is paying for the treatment himself or has a mysterious benefactor, Leorio isn’t certain. 

A nurse on duty tells him the room number he’s looking for. It’s at the end of the hall, a bit isolated from the other rooms, and Leorio wonders if that had been a conscious choice, too. Perhaps Kite is a solitary man, much like his mentor? Other than Kite’s profound impact on Gon, Leorio doesn’t know much concrete about the man. Hell, he doesn’t even know what Kite _looks_ _like_ — or _had_ looked like, before the events that had apparently ravaged him. 

For Gon’s sake, he’s determined to face the unknown. 

With hardly any hesitation, Leorio knocks on the door. There’s no reason to be worried about meeting Kite; he’s simply one of Gon’s friends, and a hospital patient — both categories with which Leorio is very familiar. 

“Come in.” 

It’s a deep but wispy voice that greets him, steady but laden with exhaustion, and Leorio regrets interrupting the other man’s rest. But he’s already here, and coming back later at a different time would just disturb him again. So he enters, uncertain why now of all times he’s experiencing a bout of nerves. 

When the man turns towards him, Leorio’s heart skips a beat at the sight. Scars mottle his face like stitches on a doll that had been broken and hastily put back together, and his skin is equally as pale and lifeless. The white hair cascading to his hips further enhances his skeletal appearance, and Leorio has a hard time even believing that this person is clinging to life. But there’s a spark of recognition, something akin to a _soul_ in his eyes, something that makes Leorio certain that he’s not currently staring at a corpse. 

“Leorio.” 

He jolts. “Y-yes? I mean — yes, that’s me.” 

The man stares unflinchingly back. “I’m aware. I saw the broadcast of that fool speech you gave to the Hunter Association.” 

Ah, yes. The speech where he’d accidentally told every existing Hunter how he’d, well,  _spent his free time_. This conversation is off to an  _amazing_ start. “H-hey, to be fair, I didn’t even know I was going to be giving it before it happened!” 

Kite nods. “I understand. While it wasn’t the most dignified, I still thought it was very brave.” 

Leorio’s caught between flattery and offense, choosing the former to save his pride. Even he had to admit that his speech had been... less than professional. “Er, thank you,” Leorio manages, breaking eye contact. “I think?” 

“Yes, it was a compliment,” Kite says. “I would never be cut out for giving a speech in front of that many people, especially not on the spot like that. You really charmed everyone, somehow.” 

Convinced he’s not being mocked, Leorio lets himself relax a bit. “Thank you. But, er, really — enough about me and all my embarrassment. I’d love to get to know you more,” he gushes without thinking. “Any friend of Gon is a friend of mine.” 

“Ah, of course.” Kite blinks, and Leorio struggles to recognize what he’s thinking. Is he coldly appraising Leorio, considering him unworthy of knowing Gon? Or is he simply reserved and doesn’t know how to respond? “You’ve done a lot more for him than I was able to,” Kite admits finally. “I’m grateful. Thank you for taking care of him.” 

Leorio truly doesn’t know what to say. “Oi, you’re praising me far too much,” he says sheepishly. “I’m just a normal guy in comparison. Gon’s the one who’s really special.” 

Kite’s lips quirk upwards. “No one who passes the Hunter Exam, runs for office, and punches Ging Freecss in the face is a _normal guy_ , Leorio.” 

“To be fair, I didn’t actually _mean_ to run for office —” 

“Neither Gon nor Ging would be interested in you if you were average,” Kite says, which once again gives Leorio mixed emotions. “I wouldn’t sell yourself short like that.” 

“Er, well —” It’s still hard to know what to say to such praise, especially since he _knows_ he falls short when it comes to his friends. Gon, Killua, and Kurapika had all practically mastered their Nen specialties in the time it had taken Leorio to learn about the four principles. They had participated in death-defying missions while he was stuck studying for medical school; the most action he had experienced had been driving the getaway car for Kurapika (and getting stuck in traffic in the process). “Right... I appreciate that.” 

Kite raises an eyebrow, but says nothing. Again Leorio takes note of his gaunt and tired face; he doesn’t know the man, but he looks _lonely,_  although perhaps that’s just Leorio projecting. “Kurapika and I are going to dinner later,” Leorio blurts, though he’s not actually sure Kurapika had agreed, or would want extra company if he had. “I thought maybe, uh, if you wanted to — if you’re feeling up to it, join us? I mean, I know you may not feel like it. But if you do?” Mentally he’s kicking himself, wondering if Kurapika will berate him for springing unexpected guests on their (tentative) plans at the last minute, but it’s too late to backtrack. 

“Kurapika is the one who’s replacing Pariston in the Zodiacs, correct?” Kite asks. “Ging-san said you think very highly of him. It may be interesting to get to know about the two who — why are you scowling?” 

The mention of Gon’s biological father is enough to twist Leorio’s face into an ugly expression. He hadn't meant for his distaste to show on his face, but Leorio had never been good at hiding his emotions. “So that deadbeat has been talking about me, is that right?” 

“You did punch him on live TV,” Kite says airily. “I’d say that warrants consideration.” 

“Consideration? Oh, _excuse me_ for not jumping with joy at being worthy of the great Ging Freecss’s _consideration_.” Leorio folds his arms across his chest with a huff. 

“He’s a very skilled Hunter,” Kite says, but there’s an edge to his voice now. “Recognition by him is no easy feat.” 

 _But the way he treated Gon — !_ “I’m fine without it, thank you very much.” 

“Suit yourself.” 

Leorio wills the frustration to simmer down, if only to get back to the topic on hand. _Right, the topic. The dinner._ Time for some stellar backtracking. “Anyway, maybe — maybe it would be too awkward to go out as the three of us? I mean, I only met you a few minutes ago —” Oh god, Kite’s not reacting at all, this is extremely humiliating — _damage control, Leorio!_   “—So if you wanted to bring someone else along, like a member of your team, uh — a plus one, like a double date. Except Kurapika and I aren’t really — I mean, he’d definitely not call it that — er, maybe you don't even want to go at all? That's also fine —”

“Leorio,” Kite interjects tiredly. “I get it. Three is... an awkward number.” For a moment his gaze falls out of focus, and Leorio can’t even begin to imagine what he's referring to. “In that case... I’ll invite Ging-san.” 

“The fuck you will!” The sentiment bursts out of him like an Emitter attack, a ball of angry energy. Leorio slams his hands down on the bedside table to punctuate his words, and Kite flinches. “And what’s with the respectful honorific, huh? That shitty asshole left Gon to die! Didn’t you hear him during that broadcast? He can’t even muster pretend caring for his own son! He wouldn't visit him in the hospital!” 

“That _shitty asshole_ is my Nen teacher,” Kite says flatly. 

The air between the two of them has quickly become rather frigid. “The guy who can’t even raise his own son has Nen students?” 

“Just me,” Kite says, sounding almost proud. 

Leorio grimaces. “You must have been really desperate to find a teacher to go to him for help,” he grumbles, almost pitying Kite. 

That pity quickly dissipates when Kite responds. “I knew nothing about Nen when I met him, nor had I taken the Hunter exam. Spare me your assumptions. I asked him to mentor me because I wanted him to, and _specifically_ him.” 

Leorio is flabbergasted. He knows it shows on his face — again, he’s an expressive guy! — but he’s also aware that the further into this conversation they go, the further he’ll offend Kite beyond repair. And Kite is someone Gon respects, regardless of his connection with Ging. Therefore, by association, Leorio ought to respect him too. “Forget it,” he concedes. “If — if you want to invite Ging, who am I to stop you?” 

Kite smiles slightly, the expression making his face look even more skeletal. Leorio does his best not to stare at the scarred stitches crinkling across his face, simultaneously exasperated by and nervous around this man. “Who are you to stop me, hmm? Well, a rookie Hunter who almost won the Chairman election by a fluke. If you think that’s enough to prevent me from doing what I want, by all means, you can try to fight me to earn my respect. But depending on what comes up, I may destroy this room, and one or more of the people in it.” 

Leorio isn’t sure he wants to know what that last bit even means. “F-forget it, I said you could do whatever!” 

This gets Kite to laugh a little. “Please relax, Leorio. It’s been a while since I’ve been able to find any humor in a situation, to be quite honest.” 

“That’s some pretty dark humor…” 

“I think I’ve earned my right to that,” Kite says, another statement Leorio doesn’t want to understand. “So I’ll call Ging-san, and you can send me the finalized arrangements about tonight, yes?” 

Leorio feels like he’s been tricked somehow. There’s no expression indicating mischievousness on the other’s face, but he can tell Kite knows he’s won a battle Leorio hadn’t even meant to pick. “All right, fine. But he better behave himself!” 

“This coming from the man who punched him in public.” 

“You know what I mean!” 

Kite shrugs. “I can’t make any promises for him, Leorio. But I’ll pass on the message, if you so wish. 'Leorio wishes that you don't make a scene.' Though I doubt he’ll listen either way. He acts however he wants to act.” He smiles thinly. "I'm looking forward to getting to know you better as well, Leorio."

 _I’m agreeing to this to be polite to Kite. Kite is a friend of Gon’s, and I’m a friend of Gon’s._ But the mental mantra isn’t enough to talk him down from the irritation and dread of the situation he’s dug himself into. Curse his eternally open heart and kindness!

_Guess I have a lot of explaining to do when I talk to Kurapika._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At one point I was going to give all my HxH fics rhyming titles. I think I'll just leave that to the drabbles.
> 
> Also, usually I tag plot points and characters as I go, but since I've already written most of this in advance, I'm just tagging everything from the beginning for convenience.


	2. Chapter 2

Back when Kite had existed as nothing more than Ging's student, his mentor had taken him to Greed Island to show off the rich and confusing fantasy world he and his colleagues had created with the help of Nen. During their journey, when the two of them had traipsed through Aiai — a city of artificial romance and dating sim cliches — many an NPC had pulled Kite aside, gushing over his supposed "presence" and "handsome features." Tall and pale (and according to others a bit brooding, though he'd never quite believed it himself), Kite had cut a striking figure in the town, becoming a magnet for unwanted attention. He and Ging had not spent much time in that area of the game due to Kite’s discomfort at the excessive fawning (and Ging’s badly-hidden jealousy).

If Kite returned to Aiai now, he’s certain the looks he'd receive would be of horror rather than admiration.  His frame, once describable as slender, is now gaunt and skeletal, and his sunken eyes are framed by pale, corpse-like skin. Lacerations mar his face, remnants of the fight with Neferpitou and his subsequent "rescue" by the team of Knuckle and Shoot, during which they had battered Kite's body with attacks to restrain him. The scar under his chin is the most glaring of all, curling around his neck like a choker, and when his eyes fall upon it in the bathroom mirror, Kite is reminded of that split second of grotesque panic and pain when Neferpitou's claws had flashed towards him with playful, murderous intent — the moment before everything had blanked into darkness.

Tightness clenches his chest, and Kite staggers, one hand shooting out to grasp the counter, the other curled around his own wrist to steady it. The limbs currently shaking do not feel like his own; he’s dissociating, overwhelmed with fatigue and struggling to maintain control over his own body.  _It's like I'm not even here._ A line of searing heat shoots through his neck, and for a moment his vision blurs as his body is assailed by the pain of phantom blows and the lonesome memory of a violin.

And a ringing phone.

_A ringing… phone?_

Clumsily Kite reaches into his pocket, fabric brushing against fingers that don't feel like his own; his mind so distant, so far from his body. But he still hears his phone ring, and somewhere within him remains the instinct to answer it. It’s been a long time since it has rung, since hardly anyone has access to his number.

“H-hello,” he manages, squinting his eyes shut and willing the spinning of the room to cease.

“Ah — Kite? It’s me, it’s Gon.” He doesn’t have to introduce himself; Kite would recognize that voice no matter what, the voice of the boy who had shamefully saved him when it should have been the other way around. “I haven’t checked in on you since I went home… I wanted to see if you were doing all right.”

The punch of guilt in Kite’s gut is almost physically painful, and he has to clench his fists to prevent his hands from shaking. “I’m quite all right,” he says, despite knowing it’s a lie. At least through the phone, Gon can’t see the sorry state of Kite's body, can’t see the obvious agony in his face as he strains to remain conscious. “Thanks to you, of course. And you? Ging-san tells me you no longer can use Nen.”

 _That’s my fault, too. If I had been more careful, none of this ever would have_ —

“Mm, that’s right!” Gon replies too cheerfully. “Mito-san has me back in school for now. Math is so boring, I feel like my head’s gonna explode. It’s way harder than learning Nen!”

Even through his discomfort, Kite laughs. “You’re a bright kid, Gon. But some things you can only learn in school. So I think Mito has the right idea.”

There’s a short pause. “Did _you_ go to school, Kite?”

 _Kid has a point there..._ “Er, no,” he admits. “But, well… I never had any family that would have pushed me to go.” That’s one way of putting it.“I learned a lot from Ging-san when we traveled, though. Not just Nen, but all sorts of information he’d picked up on his adventures. About creatures, and how to survive in the wilderness, and the like. And of course, I studied a lot once I gained my Hunter License so I could become as knowledgeable about Magical Beasts as I could manage.” That included studying anything he could find about the Dark Continent and Chimera Ants, mentioned only in passing by Ging during one of their excursions.

(Though in the end, that research hadn't been enough to prepare Kite for what was to come.)

“Well, I’ll do my best,” Gon says, “but math still sucks.”

“Can’t argue with that one."

Gon laughs. “You should come to Whale Island again someday, Kite. Like — like how it was before,” he adds a bit uncertainly. “Mito-san would be happy to have you, too.”

“Are you sure about that?” Kite asks. “Last I saw her she was fairly angry at me for telling you your father was alive.”

There’s a telling lull on the other line. “Well, there’s nothing else you could tell me that would make her that mad a second time. ...Probably.”

Kite chuckles, and he feels his chest contract yet again, as though an invisible claw is clamped around torso. “Always the optimist, Gon,” he teases, voice only a little strained. With all his self-control he wills himself not to cough lest he alert Gon to his current weakened state and cause him to worry yet again. Talking for this long is tiring him out; he’s not sure his body had been put back together quite _right_ after Neferpitou fought him, but there’s nothing that can be done about it now other than gritting his teeth and living through the pain. “Well, I’ll consider it, once I —” _Once I feel up to it,_ Kite almost says, but he swallows the words. “Once I’ve taken care of some business,” he says instead.

“Mm, yeah!” Gon agrees. “Oh — can you hear that? Probably not. Mito-san’s calling to me from the other room. Shoot — I just remembered I forgot to set out my laundry. I'd better do that before she notices... can I call you back some other time?”

“Of course,” Kite says, silently grateful he’ll be able to take a break from speaking. “Better get on that. If you don’t wash your clothes regularly, you’ll end up like your father.”

There’s a teasing noise on the other line, and Kite pictures Gon sticking his tongue out at the phone. “I’ll talk to you later, ‘kay? Bye, Kite!”

“...Goodbye.”

Mere seconds after Gon has hung up, Kite finds himself doubled over, coughing and coughing and _coughing_ for what seems like an eternity.The image surfaces in his mind of coughing so hard his own limbs detach, and cloying nausea overwhelms him like a malignant aura, blurring his vision and rising in his throat. _Inescapable_. He scrambles to the bathroom, collapsing over the toilet, and vomits until he can hardly breathe. One hand grips the rim while the other holds his own hair in a shaky ponytail, preventing the strands of his hair from falling into his face as he’s hunched over miserably. Once his shuddering breaths have settled, Kite stands shakily, staggering to the sink and splashing water on his face.

It invokes a memory in him, completely uncalled for. He’s still a teenager then, throwing up in the middle of the forest after ingesting poisonous berries, and his mentor stands over him, complaining that vomiting is gross and that he doesn’t get paid enough for this. (He doesn't get paid at all.) But Kite’s not the one holding his hair up in that memory, and he’s not the one who cooks a meal afterwards, to soothe Kite's stomach after reprimanding him for his foolishness.

That was all —

"Ging-san."

He mumbles it out loud, which surprises him. But it's a reminder Kite has to call him as soon as possible to pass on Leorio's rather forced dinner invitation. One hand braced against the sink for support, he reaches into his pocket for his phone to make his second painful call of the day; he fumbles the device in his trembling hand but mercifully doesn’t drop it as he dials the number.

“Hello?”

“Ah, Ging-san,” Kite says, relieved the man had even bothered to pick up the phone. It’s always a gamble with him. “Are you occupied at the moment?”

“Well, I picked up, didn't I?” Ging replies, and Kite can clearly visualize him rolling his eyes at the question. It makes him smile. “Besides, I just quit dealing with all that Zodiac crap. How busy could I be?”

“You’re always doing something or another,” Kite reminds him. “But that’s good, if you aren’t. I spoke with Leorio Paladiknight earlier. You know, the —”

“The guy who punched me,” Ging interrupts. “Gon’s doctor friend, has bit of a temper. Yeah, yeah. I know who he is. What did he want from you, shitty stories about me? I’m sure you had plenty of those to share.”

Ging is self-absorbed as ever, jumping to the conclusion that they had been talking about him. (Which... is actually true, Kite reminds himself begrudgingly.) “No, he wanted to speak to me as a friend of Gon’s. I suppose.” The scar around his neck begins to itch; he reaches up to scratch it absently with one finger. “He wished to get to know me better, and invited us out to dinner.”

“Huh, That's awfully nice of him,” Ging says, then there’s a confused pause. “...Us?”

“Well, he invited _me,_ ” Kite admits, “and I invited you… sort of. I didn't give him much choice.”

“Gee, I can’t imagine Leorio was too thrilled about that.”

“No,” he agrees. “He wasn’t. But he already agreed to it, so I was hoping you’d take him up on that offer. Showing up alone after all that trouble would be... irksome." Not that Ging had ever cared what inconvenienced Kite. "Perhaps the two of you could make amends?”

“Doubt it.”

These kinds of immediate shutdowns are what make Ging so irritating at times. Kite fights the urge to sigh, knowing his own exasperation would simply make the interaction worse, fueling Ging’s petulance like gasoline on a fire. “He’s bringing Kurapika, too. The man replacing Pariston.”

“So this is like a double date, is that right?”

Though Ging's tone is sarcastic, Kite chokes, attempting to cover the sound with a cough. And then another, less-intentional cough. After coughing for far longer than he had planned, Kite steadies his breathing and clears his throat. “I thought it would be a good opportunity to get to know the people replacing you in the Association,” Kite says defensively. “So you can feel secure they're in good hands without you. You could offer them advice, or… ask about Gon,” he finishes lamely, knowing Ging would never even consider doing either of the latter two suggestions.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Why do you ask?”

“That was a lot of coughing.”

Kite shrugs, then remembers they’re on the phone. “I’ll manage. Don’t change the subject.”

There’s silence for a beat, then: “Will I have to pay for the dinner?”

Kite resists the urge to scoff, then — _ah, what the hell —_ he scoffs anyway, purposely loud, and he can hear Ging snort on the other end. “I’ll pay for you, if that’s really what it takes.”

Though he can’t confirm the other man’s shit-eating grin through a phone call, Kite swears he can practically feel Ging’s mischievous aura nonetheless. “All right, I suppose I can spare some time to be berated by Leorio. Should be interesting, at the very least. I doubt I'll be bored. Just let me know when I should come over.”

“Come over?” Kite echoes. “Can’t you just meet me there?”

“Are you sure you should be traveling alone in your state?” Ging shoots back, and just as Kite begins to consider that Ging actually cares about him, he adds, “If something happens to you and the hospital blames me, I might wind up in some kind of tiresome legal trouble. Better safe then sorry.”

“Right,” is all Kite says in response to the dismissal. "Well, I'll let you know when the plans are finalized, then."

There’s no seamless way for the two of them to get off the phone without awkwardness, and Kite can Ging clear his throat on the other line, so he adds a curt, “Bye,” and hangs up the phone without a second thought. Knowing Ging, the abruptness is more a relief than anything else. Dragging out goodbyes had never been the strong suit of either of them.

Kite sighs.

_This dinner... will be difficult._

* * *

“Leorio told me he believed you would be a good fit for the Zodiacs,” Cheadle says, tapping the clipboard with her pen, “and while I do trust him, you do understand that it’s still necessary to conduct a thorough interview, correct? I hope you don’t have a problem with that.”

Kurapika shakes his head. “Of course not,” he says, trying not to appear befuddled by the woman’s bizarre attire. Cheadle Yorkshire, the Dog of the Zodiacs and new Chairman of the Hunter Association, is clearly attempting to embody her animal through her clothing and makeup choices. Idly Kurapika prays that he will not be forced to dress up as a rat when he takes this job. ...On second thought, the mental image of Leorio prancing around with pig ears and a curly tail is almost enough to make him smile. _Ridiculous._

“Your motivations for joining the expedition are unimportant, as long as you perform your duties,” Cheadle says, “so I won’t ask. All Hunters have some kind of personal agenda, after all, even those part of an organization. The previous Rat had  _plenty_ of personal agendas that I was never privy to." Her nose scrunches with unmasked distaste, and Kurapika wonders what kind of person Pariston Hill must have been to elicit such a negative reaction from an otherwise composed woman. "Regardless, Leorio warned me that you wouldn’t wish to speak of your personal activities.”

 _How thoughtful of him._ “I see. Well, I can assure you that my own agenda is certainly not in conflict with yours. Nor is it even related, for that matter.”

“In that case,” Cheadle says with a nod, “it would benefit us at the very least to know what kind of Hunter you are, and some of your abilities.” She checks her notes, tapping an almost cartoonishly paw-like hand against the desk. “Leorio told me you are a very powerful Conjurer, but he wouldn't speak of the details of your abilities, in case you wished to keep them secret from us. He seemed quite invested in preserving your emotional well-being.”

As usual, Leorio is far too selfless for his own good. Kurapika shifts in his seat, trying to quell the wave of discomfort threatening to wash over him. "I am a Blacklist Hunter," he says quietly, "and the Phantom Troupe is my target. The motivation I have for tracking them is... personal." Leorio had told him he could trust Cheadle, and Kurapika gets that sense just talking to her; she is no-nonsense, intelligent, and seemingly without self-serving agendas. Yet opening up beyond this point is enough to churn up dark misgivings, and his instinctual wariness floats to the surface of his thoughts. "If I am required to go into more detail," he adds, a bit strained, "I'm afraid I may consider not taking the position at all."

Cheadle watches him from behind her round glasses, but her expression doesn't change. If she is alarmed by Kurapika's secrecy, she doesn't show it. "It frustrates me at times to not know every detail of everyone I work with," she says with a sigh, "but that's something I am working through. As Chairman, I must pick and choose what information is pertinent in different situations, and I sense knowing more about your personal vendetta won't mean much for me or the success of our upcoming mission." The gaze she fixes on Kurapika is steely, but beneath her resolve is the hint of an apology, an acknowledgement of her own insecurity about the position of leadership forced upon her. Kurapika understands the feeling quite well, having been shoehorned into taking up the mantle of the de facto leader of Neon Nostrade's bodyguards when tragedy had befallen their comrades. Though stepping up had been necessary, it had also been taxing, and Kurapika can imagine that suddenly having the desires of the entire Hunter Association thrust into her hands —  _paws? —_ has frayed Cheadle's nerves.

But Kurapika doesn't have time or emotional capacity to waste precious moments empathizing with her. He has to get this job and continue the mission at hand before his mind can truly rest.

...And possibly eat dinner with Leorio first.

As if reading his mind, Kurapika's phone buzzes gently in his pocket, but before he can apologize for the interruption, Cheadle raises a hand (paw?) to quash the words before they can leave his lips. "We can continue this later," she says, "but for now I am plenty satisfied that you will conduct yourself professionally with the rest of the Zodiacs. At the very least, that's a step up from where we were a week ago."

_This woman has been through a lot._

"Thank you." He nods his head once, respectfully, rising to his feet and brushing invisible dust off the front of his suit before stepping out of the office. It had taken a bit of time to acclimate to professional business attire after casting aside his traditional Kurta garb, and even now sometimes the clothing feels too stiff, too restrictive. He wonders idly how Leorio can manage dressing in such a manner day after day.

_...Ah, Leorio._

Begrudgingly, he takes out his phone.

* * *

There’s a knock at his door.

Kite rises from the bed, staggering slightly before regaining some semblance of balance on still-wobbly legs. It’s almost evening, edging closer towards the time he and Ging are supposed to meet Leorio and Kurapika for a dinner he’s not sure he’ll manage to make it through, so he fully expects the person at the door to be Ging. Most likely his mentor will be wearing the same ratty clothes he always does, because he barely owns anything else, and it will make Kite feel a bit better about his own sorry state. It’s a bit embarrassing picturing their grand entrance at the restaurant: two scruffy, battered street rats sitting down across from two well-groomed younger contemporaries in suits.

The person who is at Kite’s door is also wearing a suit, but he certainly isn’t Ging.

“Expecting someone else?” Pariston Hill says cheerfully. “You look disappointed.”

“I was,” Kite says, on guard in an instant. “Expecting someone else, I mean.” He makes no comment regarding his disappointment. “I don’t mean to sound rude, but why are you here?”

Without the strength to block Pariston, Kite can only watch helplessly as the gaudy man pushes past him into the hospital room and makes himself at home on one of the uncomfortable chairs, folding one leg atop the other, artificially debonair. “Well, you’ve been through a lot lately,” Pariston says apathetically. “Is it so strange to pay a fellow respected Hunter a hospital visit?"

 _From you, it couldn’t be stranger._ “It’s usually considered proper protocol to call ahead and warn the person first,” Kite says dully. “But I appreciate the sentiment.” Ging doesn’t like this guy. Kite has heard Ging rant about Pariston's incorrigible nature for longer than he's ever heard Ging complain about anyone else, but even apart from that endorsement, Kite can tell the man is bad news. (Well, anyone who’s been in a room with him for more than sixty seconds can tell _that_.)

“Ah, my mistake,” Pariston says with a dismissive wave of his hand, and Kite nearly has to squint as the light reflects harshly off his sparkling suit. “You had some fairly close encounters with those Chimera Ants, didn’t you?” Pariston asks cheerfully, and every alarm bell in Kite’s mind begins blaring at once. “That sounds dreadful. Really, my condolences.”

Kite says nothing.

Pariston gazes at him with sympathy that couldn’t be faker. “And how regretful that it ruined your chances at getting votes in the election.”

Kite says nothing.

“Though I’m sure you wouldn't have campaigned. I believe you would have voted for Ging either way, yes?”

“It’s really none of your business,” Kite replies, then mentally curses himself for cracking and allowing any response at all to slip past his lips.

Pariston laughs, which is quite the unpleasant sound. “You’re very loyal to him,” he says. “How commendable. But I didn’t come to talk about my colleague.” He fiddles with his cuff link, smiling at Kite with insincere lips and murky eyes. “Forgive me if it seems rather insensitive to ask, but I was curious to know what it was like.”

“What _what_ was like?” Kite repeats impatiently. This man is obtuse in exactly the way Ging isn’t, whereas Ging is frustrating but good-hearted deep down, Pariston has clearly questionable intentions that are impossible to prove from his words alone. If Kite were a dog, his hackles would raise every time Pariston uttered a word, as though set on edge by the scent of an impending storm.

“The Chimera Ants,” Pariston says. “You practically lived with them, did you not?”

That wouldn’t quite be how Kite would describe it. His body had been used as a plaything by one of the Royal Guards, cut up and stitched back together until the final product was practically unrecognizable. Pariston’s gaze roams over his scars with almost perverse fascination, and Kite is reminded of another pair of dreadful eyes, glowing with curiosity and dangerous playfulness; eyes that had simultaneously appraised him and yearned to snuff him out.

He wonders idly if someone like Pariston had been a vital ingredient of that Ant’s personality.

“I don’t remember,” is all Kite says, shutting out the lingering sensation of Neferpitou’s cloying aura and the metallic claws of their monstrous puppet searing through his body again and again. “Why do you ask?” Considering who he's talking to, he expects the query to be futile.

“Hmm, why indeed.” Pariston’s finger taps against his chin, and Kite’s patience thins steadily as he awaits an answer. “Isn’t it a Hunter’s nature to be curious about the unknown?”

“I suppose,” Kite says, but allows nothing more.

Pariston’s eyes still scan him without feeling. “Well, I understand if it’s too traumatic for you to speak about,” he says finally, which irks Kite, implicitly assigning weakness to him where there is none. “I completely respect that. Being here talking to me now is impressive enough!” He chuckles, then stands. “My apologies for prying, Kite. It’s a sensitive topic, I know. I’ll just have to conduct my research elsewhere.”

 _Research?_   Kite almost asks, but he knows better. Pariston's purposely being vague to goad him into pressing further, and Kite is fairly certain he'll regret learning any details about Pariston's machinations involving his perverse interest in the Chimera Ants. Ignorance isn't _quite_ bliss in this case, but it's at least more tolerable than the alternative of knowing too much. "I suppose," he repeats noncommittally. 

The man's threatening smile never falters as he makes his way towards the door with all the liveliness of a mannequin. "I'm glad to see you're doing all right, really," he says, and somehow the  _really_ makes it sound even less genuine than before. "Thank you for taking the time to talk to me. Say hi to Ging for me, will you?"

It occurs to Kite then that Pariston is frustrated that his transparent inquiry hadn't netted him the information he desired, and his passive-aggressive question is simply a mask for that irritation. Knowing he had thwarted Pariston, if only a little, is a bit too satisfying. "I'm sure he'll be happy to hear from you," Kite says, equally as fake.

When Pariston shuts the door behind him, the  _click_ is soft but sharp, and when Kite pictures a fuming Pariston engaged in a silent tantrum on the other side, he smirks, reveling in the illusion of victory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't figured it out by now, a good portion of this fic is a collection of miscellaneous character interactions that I wanted to explore "just because."


End file.
